


The Ticking of Time

by Ravenflaw



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everything Hurts, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenflaw/pseuds/Ravenflaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock waits for John, like John waited for him</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ticking of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like it! Feel free to comment away

Time was ticking away. Tick tick tick: that sound echoed circles in the hollow room. The evening light was dimming and casting shadows along the familiar room, the lounge with its stains (no matter how hard John scrubbed they remained there as stubborn as their creator) the clock on the bookshelf, ticking that continuous metronome of sound, in time with the twitch in Sherlock’s right eye, in time with the tapping of his foot, following the chorus of running his hands frustratedly through his hair, tracing the melody of his coat swishing as he paces up and down the hallway of apartment 221B. This orchestra of sound in the silence apartment, how had he never noticed it before? It was enough to drive a person to the edge.

But he had come back.

Finally familiar thud of footsteps up the stairs, the rustle and swish of smooth plastic shopping bags, the contents rattling as their owner swaps hands to reach for his keys – dangling chiming of the apartment keys, the key for the surgery, the key to Mrs. Hudson’s door. Sherlock waits, tense, unmoving, on edge as that doorknob twists, and the breathless muttering becomes louder, as that man walks through the door and turns.

Drops the shopping.

Falls back onto the doorframe, door still ajar.

Grasps the wall; seems to shrink in front of Sherlock’s eyes.

Increased heart rate, laboured breathing, slight trembling in hands, white knuckles, signs of insomnia, evidence of past return of psychosomatic limp and tremor, creating weakness on the left side -

John was going to faint.

Sherlock moved towards John, reaches out with his hand, reaches for this man whose face is white whose eyes are wide, who's gasping his name in shock, unwilling to believe what he’s seeing is in front of him  
Sherlock reaches him, reaches out with his hand to grab John’s arm, his shoulder, the closest body part to hold him up, to help him

He is so distracted by his concern that he doesn’t see the fist coming, making contact with the right side of his mouth, feels the skin split, the blood in his teeth and the pain as he bites down on the tip of his tongue.  
Startled, he moves back away from John, who’s looking at him with tears in his eyes, his mouth parted in some emotion Sherlock can’t distinguish

Sherlock dabs his bleeding mouth with his sleeve looks down then catches John’s gaze full of anger, hurt, disbelief and...something else, Sherlock doesn’t recognise. Does John hate him?  
John’s next action further confuses Sherlock.

“You utter bastard” John whispers hoarsely and throws himself at Sherlock, not caring that he steps on the tea bags, not caring the sugar is all over the carpet, not caring Sherlock’s blood is dripping down from his mouth and onto John’s jumper.  
He holds on to Sherlock like he’s going to drown gasping and crying and swearing and shaking so Sherlock just holds him there, feels John’s arms crush his chest, feels John’s tears on his neck and closes his eyes.

I’m sorry he thinks.

He says nothing.  
They stand like that for so long Sherlock feels time slipping away, becoming irrelevant.  
John is holding onto him like he’s going to evaporate. He won’t. Not ever again.

Not ever again.


End file.
